


Nonliving Things

by monolith (dawnofmandanceparty)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bottom Steve Harrington, Choking, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, M/M, Pining, Trans Steve Harrington, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnofmandanceparty/pseuds/monolith
Summary: Billy helps Steve study.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 7
Kudos: 81
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2019





	Nonliving Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trashmage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashmage/gifts).

> heed the warnings on the tin.
> 
> Beta'd by [thatgirlwhodraws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgirlwhodraws).

“These are the seven characteristics of living organisms,” Billy says. He’s holding Steve’s textbook, sitting on Steve’s bed. His back is against the headboard and his legs are spread out, on top of the clean comforter. He’s wearing the same clothes he had worked at the garage with, Steve thinks. Even from where he is, sitting sideways on his desk chair halfway across the room, he can see dark smudges on Billy’s knees. He is sure that he catches the occasional whiff of oil and gasoline when Billy shifts. 

“Nutrition,” Billy sighs. He does this thing where he flips through the book, and Steve knows that he’s looking for the end of the paragraph, the chapter, the unit. “Living things take in materials from their surroundings that they use for growth or to provide energy. Nutrition is the process by which organisms obtain energy and raw materials. Respiration.” 

There’s a beat of silence, maybe two, before Steve looks up. Makes eye contact. Steve gives a cursory glance towards the book in Billy’s lap. _ Is that it_? He wants to ask. He knows, though. He knows that’s not it. 

“I’m bored,” Billy says. It’s something a kid would say, but not like how a kid would say it. There’s nothing like a whine in how it’s said, no complaint. Just a challenge. 

Steve has a test on Monday. In night school. It’s Saturday now, and he hasn’t even made it through the unit once. Robin’s booked all weekend at Family Video, picking up shifts so Steve could study. Nancy’s got tests too, although she doesn’t need anyone to help her. Steve’s tried, admittedly, to read on his own. He’s read pages and pages of his biology textbook. He read them several times before he decided to admit that he was only slightly-less empty headed than when he had first started. 

Even with, like, the two paragraphs Billy’s read, Steve knows more than he did before this whole thing started. The issue is that he needs someone-- it’s not a choice, he _ needs _ someone-- to read to him, or he won’t get it. Things won’t sink in. He wonders, sometimes, if he had known this before he had tried to apply to all of those colleges, if he had known this before he had tried to take all his tests and write his papers on books he could barely make it through, if he wouldn’t have had to go to night school. If he had someone to read things to him then, someone to help words make sense and to tell him when his Bs were Ds and Ps were Qs, would he have graduated? Would he have made it into one of those colleges, graduated with honours because his dad paid twice the tuition amount to make sure the Harringtons stayed on top? 

“Let’s just finish the chapter first?” Steve’s statement turns into a question. He’s tired. A little desperate, too. He’d have to have been, to have called Billy. Billy’s real low on the list of people he wants to help him study. Steve was kind of hoping that since Billy wasn’t taking biology until next semester, that the reading would be something new for him. That since he had won the Hawkins High School Junior Science Award back in May, before everything had gone to shit, it might have been something interesting for him as well. 

“Tomorrow.” Billy shrugs, like he already knows that he’ll be at Steve’s the next day. Like he hasn’t been totally mercurial and unpredictable in the last couple months. 

“Please?” Steve frowns. He tries not to look like he’s pouting, even though he totally is.

“I’m _ bored_,” Billy says again, and this time it sounds like an order. 

◯

Steve remembers, before July, when Billy figured his shit out. 

Well, some of his shit. Billy was Billy, and by nature he had a ton of things that he _ hadn’t _ figured out. But he had figured out his shit with Steve, and Steve was cool with that. Billy had put his hands on Steve last November in a way that had hurt him, and Billy had admitted that he had hurt himself, too. He had even kind of _apologized_, in a Billy way. And then he had put his hands on Steve again.

It was a lot. Billy was always a lot. Steve remembers Billy grabbing his hips, pulling him in close. Steve remembers being startled, rearing back, wondering if Billy had a dish stowed in those tight pants or some other shit hidden somewhere, or was gonna throw him back, up against the wall. But Billy’s thumbs snaked their way into Steve’s belt loops, and when Steve made a shocked little gasp at the feel of Billy’s palming at the V of his hips, Billy stuck his tongue into Steve’s mouth. 

Steve had only ever kissed girls before. Well, and Jonathan. And Tommy, once. But it didn’t really count because Jonathan was Nancy’s, and Carol had dared him to kiss Tommy, and Tommy was sloppy and distracted and spent half the time looking over at Carol anyways. 

Billy kisses like he fights. Steve’s sure he’ll have bruises on his hips the next day, and Billy’s kissing him like he wants him _ so bad_\-- biting Steve’s bottom lip and sucking his tongue and taking time to pull back and just _ look _ at him, say shit like ' _ Jesus Christ,' _ and ' ** _Fuck_ ** _ , Steve__,' _ and they’re only making out in the locker room. Steve would think it was silly, that it was too much, but he looks at Billy too, sees the colour high in his cheeks and the brightness in his blue eyes and he kind of gets it. Maybe Billy, like Steve, had been thinking about the other boy for a long time. Maybe finally getting to see him like this, all kissed up and hands on his hips, is something special. 

Steve sticks his hands up under Billy’s shirt. The skin there is hot and his body is hard and Billy’s breath hitches when Steve pinches one of his nipples. Billy says, “You gonna take that off me, pretty boy?” and there’s something in his voice that wavers despite the cockiness that he tries to exude. 

Steve pushes Billy's gym shirt up, over his shoulders. He breaks their kiss for a second to flip the shirt over Billy's head and grins at the broad expanse of muscle. He's seen him topless, but it's different now that Steve's the cause of it. Billy raises an eyebrow and matches him cheeky grin for cheeky grin. He reaches for the hem of Steve's shirt, too. 

Steve doesn't let Billy take his shirt off. He prolongs the inevitable, pushes Billy into the bigger of the two bathroom stalls, shoves the little Hawkins High gym shorts down the veritable tree trunks of Billy Hargrove's thighs and drops to his knees.

"Holy shit," Billy grunts, drops one hand to Steve's shoulder, another to the dark brown waves of his hair. “Are you… are you--?”

“Yeah.” Steve musters all the knowledge he’s obtained, from being with Jonathan and from the VHS tapes his dad keeps under his bed, with names like _ Debbie Does Dallas _ and _ Neon Nights _ and _ The Satisfiers of Alpha Blue_. He pulls down Billy’s underwear too, and something in his lower stomach twists when he sees that Billy is already half hard. 

Steve’s careful. He wants to make it good. He licks his hand before he takes hold of Billy, and he knows that the number one rule is _ no teeth_, so he starts with his tongue. When he laps at the head of Billy’s dick, he hears him groan. When he hollows out his mouth, puts his lips around the shaft, the hand in his hair tightens. 

“Sorry,” Billy murmurs. He lets go of the hair, pets Steve’s head instead. His hips stutter, but he sucks in his breath through his teeth instead of thrusting. 

_ It’s okay_, Steve wants to say, but he can’t talk with his mouth full. But he looks up, meets Billy’s eyes. 

“Shit,” Billy says. “You’re fucking gorgeous.” And Steve reaches up to cover Billy’s hand with his, to push it down against his head, make him take up the fistful of his hair again. 

Billy’s not loud, but he’s responsive. Each little huff of breath, each ripple of tension through his legs, each time he presses his hips back, considerate… every event sends a thrill of satisfaction through Steve, as well as something a little more base. The way that Billy is trying his best but despite everything, is unravelling in Steve’s hands shoots straight to his dick, makes him shift. He drops a hand to the front of his own shorts to rut against, to press his own warmth and dampness against himself. 

Billy tries to warn Steve too late before he comes. Billy gets through maybe half of Steve's name before he tastes bitterness and salt, and he has to pull off quickly to cough. 

Billy’s eyes are all glazed over and he falls moreso than gets down on his knees, but he wipes the edge of Steve’s mouth with his thumb. “Sorry,” he says. “Are you okay?”

Steve nods. He licks his lips. Billy’s eyes follow the swipe of his tongue and then he’s kissing Steve deep, licking into his mouth. Steve wonders if Billy’s chasing his own taste. 

◯

Steve is sure that something changed in Billy, since July. It’s not a surprise, or a revelation. Just something that Steve thinks of occasionally. Things had changed for a lot of them-- for the Byers family, when they thought Will had died, and when he had gotten possessed. for Eleven, when Hopper died. Of course, for the Hargroves. For Max. She had thought that Billy was dead, and even after that there was a long, horrifying time when everyone thought that Billy was _ going _ to die. Things had changed for Steve then, too. 

And then Billy. Billy had changed. 

When Billy drops Steve’s open textbook to the floor, pages crumpling between carpet and cover, Steve takes it as evidence of the change. When he stalks over to Steve’s desk and Steve and pulls his hair until his head’s tilted back, neck all bare, Steve takes it as evidence of the change. Each bruise Billy leaves with his lips, with his teeth --Steve’s sure he does it on purpose-- is evidence of the change. 

Steve remembers when Billy was in the hospital. He’d never ask Steve to visit him. Steve would, anyways. Of course he would. Steve started to know which nurses would give him a dirty look when he held Billy’s hand, and which ones would turn the other way when he crawled up into the hospital bed and held Billy while he wept, strange and quiet. Billy never really said very much when he was in the hospital. Just _ no thank you _ and _ yeah, okay _ and _ I killed a lot of people, Steve _. 

Steve remembers regret. He remembers terror. He remembers the day before he was going to be released, Billy crying until he made himself sick. He remembers changing Billy’s bandages, and how he startled every time Steve touched him. He remembers Billy saying _ what if I hurt more people? _ and _ what if I hurt you_? He remembers kissing Billy, on the cheek. On his mouth. Tasting salt. 

He remembers saying _ I’ll stay with you anyways. _

Sometimes he wonders if Billy remembers. 

Billy makes Steve stand up. He pushes Steve until he walks away from the desk, turns him around and shoves him forwards until he falls on the bed, onto his stomach. Steve feels Billy hovering over him, crawling up until he’s sprawled over Steve. Billy presses down, covers Steve with his body. 

Billy gets himself hard. Steve feels lips on the back of his neck, nipping at his nape. He feels the the roll of Billy’s hips as he presses himself against Steve, over and over. Billy’s hands are on Steve’s wrists, and he forces himself to relax. Tension, he knows, will make the bruises show up darker the next day. 

Steve closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them again, Billy’s sitting up. He’s straddling Steve, has his knees positioned on either side of his hips. 

“Turn over, baby,” Billy says, and Steve wriggles until he’s on his back. “You gonna take this off for me, pretty boy?” He pulls at the hem of Steve’s shirt. It’s hard for him to get out of it, being under Billy like he is, caged in by his legs, unable to arch his back. Billy watches him struggle, looks at him twist and frown until he decides to help, pull the fabric over Steve’s head.

Steve’s binder comes off roughly, with Billy’s help. Steve feels the strain on his shoulders, the roughness of fabric rubbed too quickly against skin. Billy moves when it suits him, giving Steve just enough space for Billy to undo the button on his pants, pull his jeans and underwear down over his hips and knees. 

Billy puts a finger inside Steve. Steve’s breath hitches and he grabs for Billy’s wrist. He’s only a little slick, and even the one finger meets resistance. 

“Seriously?” Billy asks. Steve can feel his face flush, and he drops his gaze. Billy’s opened his own pants, shoved them down just below his ass. He’s not wearing any underwear. 

Billy’s mouth is a godsend. Once he finishes taking Steve's pants off, he’s able to push his knees apart, make a space for himself between him. He licks up Steve’s cunt and over his cock with his wide, hot tongue and Steve’s already starting to forget, just a little bit, about the unit test he has in forty-eight hours. Billy repeats the motion again, again, and buries himself closer to suck on Steve’s dick. 

“Fuh. Fuck,” Steve’s groaning, hips pressing up into the sensation. Billy chuckles, and the low rumble of amusement makes its way right to Steve’s core. This time, when Billy presses a finger against Steve’s sex, it slips right in. 

Billy has this thing where he likes to make Steve come first. Before Billy even gets inside him, he likes to stuff him full, make Steve hump his hand, shout his name. That’s what he does. He pushes his fingers in and out of Steve when he comes, makes him ride it out. He listens to Steve whine as his oversensitive little dick is sucked, revels in the feeling of thighs trembling around his ears. 

After that, he gets on top of Steve. He leaves his own pants part of the way on. Steve sometimes wonders if he likes the feeling of power, of being partly dressed and having his head on straight while Steve’s all spread eagle, reeling from his orgasm. There is no doubt that Billy likes the way Steve whimpers, pushes at him when he slides himself into the slick, open hole between Steve’s legs. 

“Wait,” Steve begs. “_Wait_.” Billy doesn’t. 

Billy has sex with Steve. He bottoms out and Steve gasps, fights to adjust to the invasion in his oversensitive body. Billy pulls out, out, all the way out. He presses just the head into him, pulls out again. Again. Again. He watches Steve shiver and tense around him, listens to the low pleading sound he makes every time he’s breached. 

Billy’s rough when he makes him come again. He feels himself getting closer, wants Steve to come along too, reaches down to collect some of Steve’s own wetness to rub against his cock. Steve starts getting louder--

“Billy. Billy, Billy--”

And Billy doesn’t know if he’s asking him to slow down or keep going, so he shifts forward to plant the heel of his hand on Steve’s chin, fill his mouth with fingers. 

Billy’s pretty sure Steve’s crying. His eyes are wet, at any rate. He might have gagged at some point. But when Steve comes again, his pussy spasms around Billy’s dick and Billy doesn’t really think too hard about whether or not Steve’s crying, whether or not he choked. Billy rides out his own orgasm, fucks into the smooth heat beneath him, keeps going just a little after it gets uncomfortable because the sounds Steve are making are worth it. 

◯

Sunday afternoon is when Steve really starts freaking out. He calls Nancy. He calls Robin _ at work _. He even calls Dustin’s house, gets Mrs. Henderson only for her to tell him that Dusty’s not home right now, he’s finishing up a school project at the Sinclairs’. He calls Nancy again, and he thanks god and he thanks his lucky stars and he thanks everything under the sun when Mike answers and says she just got back from wherever she was the first time he called, and he finally hears her voice on the line. 

“Nance,” he says, “Nance, I’m begging you.”

And she asks him _what_ and he tells her about his stupid test, and stupid Billy ditching him, and all this shit about _living things _he has to get through before tomorrow evening. 

And she kind of hems and haws about the whole thing until Steve reminds her that he_ can’t read the book by himself, Nance, _ and she finally, _ finally _ takes pity on him. So he makes himself get out of bed, and he makes himself put all of his sheets in the wash, and he makes himself take a shower, and he gets to Nancy’s house with his stupid fucking textbook and she takes one look at him and says _ what the hell, Steve? _

She makes him sit down and she _ looks _ at him and she asks him _ what the hell happened to you_? And Steve wants to say _ fuck off _ and _ none of your goddamned business _ but instead he says _ nothing _ and _ I just need to study, can you just help me study, Nancy? Please? _

And she does. Because Nancy’s nothing if not helpful, if not dependable. So she reads the book out loud, and she tries her best not to distract Steve by looking at him like she’s concerned, and she tries not to watch every time Steve brings his hand to his throat, makes a face, swallows laboriously. 

When he takes the drink of water she offers, and he tips his head up and back to drink the very last of it, she grits her teeth. She thinks it’s better than gasping when she sees the bruises.

◯

Steve is a little out of it after the second orgasm. It’s Saturday, he has to remind himself. He’s studying. Or he had been. Had been trying to. 

The bed is moving. There’s a sort of rhythmic pulse, rocking Steve. When he opens his eyes, he sees Billy, hovering. Up and down, up and down. Bouncing, he realises belatedly. On the balls of his feet. Billy’s jumping on the bed. 

“Welcome back, pretty boy.” Billy, up and down. Up and down. Steve closes his eyes. The rocking makes him sick. 

Something warm spatters across Steve’s chest. His eyes shoot open and he catches sight of Billy, bouncing on the bed, dick in his hand. 

“What the fu--” Before Steve even finishes sitting up, Billy’s planted a foot in the centre of his torso and is forcing him back down onto his bed. Billy’s heel digs into Steve’s sternum, and he’s laughing, and Steve feels the prickle of tears at the corner of his eyes. 

“Billy, stop.” His grip is weak around Billy’s ankle. His chest hurts and the urine, cooling on his chest, makes his nipples grow tight and stiff. Steve feels the muscles in Billy’s legs fight for balance between Steve’s ribs and the uneven surface of the bed, and as he shifts, the stream of hot liquid hits his belly, his chin, his hair. 

Billy is sure that Steve’s crying when he finishes. He sobs when Billy drops to his knees on the bed, gasps when Billy pushes damp hair out of his eyes. When he reaches down and puts three fingers inside of Steve, he wails. Billy’s eyes are bright and blue, and he smiles even when he can’t tell if Steve is pistoning into or writhing against his touch. 

Billy slips a hand around Steve’s throat. It quiets him, sure. And when Steve comes for the third time that night, he forces out a sound like he’s dying. But Billy’s made him so loose and so open, and he holds Billy's wrist but he doesn't push him away, and when he comes he gushes all over Billy’s hand, makes another wet spot on the bed. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Billy says, once he cleans Steve off of his hand and pulls his pants and his shirt back on. Steve doesn’t say anything. He just kind of stays where he is, naked. Damp. A little zoned out. Maybe more than a little. 

“Bye,” Billy says. Billy kisses him, on the cheek. On his mouth. He tastes like salt. 

◯

_ Name the seven characteristics of living organisms_, Steve’s test says, on Monday. 

Not a single one comes to mind. 


End file.
